


what more could i do with wild words

by Macremae



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Ghost Drifting, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Post-Operation Pitfall (Pacific Rim), Sharing a Bed, The Drift (Pacific Rim), but LOVE love is stored in the KITCHEN, in the sense that newt used to work at one rather than just straight jumping to teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24791122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: I watch her a little while, thinking:what more could I do with wild words?I stand in the cold kitchen, bowing down to her.I stand in the cold kitchen, everything wonderful around me.- Mary Oliver, "Morning"Or, Newt clocks in for one more shift at the Making Hermann Breakfast Express after the Breach closes.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 11
Kudos: 62
Collections: Pacific Rim Bingo 2020





	what more could i do with wild words

**Author's Note:**

> Written to get bingo for: Bartender/Barista AU, Breach is closed, Mess Hall, and Confessions.

Every morning for the past five years, Hermann has awoken at exactly seven thirty a.m. on the dot, as per his alarm. At seven thirty-five a.m., he wakes again, thanks to a second alarm, which rather than playing the soothing bird noises that the first one does, blasts the only song Newton’s terrible band ever released for purchase, as it is the only thing grating and mortifying enough to launch him out of bed that early.

The morning after the Breach closes, Hermann is dragged awake by the sound of chirping, and realizes that he has exactly five minutes to summon the energy to turn off his second alarm before Newton is given information he must never, _ever_ possess. 

“Too late,” the annoyance in question mumbles from beside him, shifting his head on the pillow so Hermann can see his sleepy, yet undeniably smug smile. “I dunno whether to be honored or insulted, man.”

“You can decide after you turn both of them off,” Hermann grumbles, pulling the covers over his head. “And quietly.”

Newton snickers, reaching over to hold down the button that completely shuts Hermann’s phone down before nosing his way over to his shoulder. “If I’d known you got the warmest room on the base, I’d have slept over sooner.”

“There’s a dictionary in my desk if the meaning of the word ‘quietly’ eludes you.” His breath is warm on Hermann’s skin, the air coming out in slow little puffs through his nose. It’s horrifically intimate, but somehow after having his life and brain and closest secrets spread out to the man like an Excel sheet, he can’t find it in himself to care too deeply. Instead, he feels a prickling somewhere at the top of his head that tells him Newton is rolling his eyes.

“I always pegged you for a morning person,” he says, fumbling with a hand until it’s splayed halfway across Hermann’s upper back. 

Hermann snorts. “I am capable of passing as one.”

“And now?”

He shifts back into the warm pressure of Newton’s hand, tucking his head down so it rests among his hair, still smelling like Hermann’s ginger and orange shampoo from last night. “Now I’ll call you a rockstar every bloody day if you’ll leave me be until ten.”

Newton’s eyebrow quirks up; Hermann can’t tell which one. “A.M?”

“No.”

A soft, low burst of laughter at this. Newton’s voice is still rough from sleep, and Hermann can feel the vibrations of his body shake against his own. “God. C’mon sleepyhead, I’m hungry and I know you are too. I wanna snag the kitchens while they’re still empty.”

Hermann groans at this, kicking Newton’s ankle under the covers, but the rumbling of his own stomach reminds him that he hasn’t eaten since a hurried breakfast yesterday. “Hey, we can always go back to bed afterwards,” Newton says, and he can’t argue with logic as solid as that. With a final grunt, Hermann pulls the covers off of both of them and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Newton paws at the bedside table for his glasses, sliding them on. He blinks blearily, pushing a hand under them to rub at his eyes before grabbing the pill bottle beside them. Hermann takes it, squinting at the label. “Oh, thank you,” he says. His brain hadn’t reached the level of wakefulness necessary to process the building ache in his knee, but after stumbling over Kaiju corpses and down Shatterdome hallways and being shoved about in the chaos of LOCCENT, he knows it can only get worse from here.

He dry swallows one, Newton handing him a stale-tasting glass of water to wash it down. He yawns widely and rests his head on Hermann’s shoulder for just a moment.

“Mm,” he says, “g’morning. We saved the world.”

“Yes we did,” Hermann replies, more sigh than words. Newton’s arm pressed against him is warm and sturdy, and he puts the glass down and rests a hand on it. “Feel any different?”

“Eh. Lemme wake up a little more, first.” He’s quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. In the ceiling above them, the heating kicks on with a hum. Hermann moves his tongue around in his mouth, trying to get rid of the dry, swollen sensation from snoring all night. He feels Newton stretch out his fingers and toes.

“What on Earth is a London Fog?” Hermann asks, a non-sequitur that flies out of his mouth before he realizes the words have been formed. Newton leans back and stares at him.

“Uh. What?”

Just as his lips form the sound, Hermann becomes aware of a fierce craving for a flavor he knows he’s never tasted before. It rests somewhere in the back of his soft palette; something fragrant and florally sweet. The tip of his tongue burns with the memory. “IーI don’t know. I think that’s what I’m thinking of.” He turns to Newton. “Or is that yours?”

Newton nods. “Uh, yeah. It’s a tea latte. I used to have ‘em on my break when I worked at the campus Starbucks before I started teaching.” He whistles. “God, I haven’t had one in years. They’re good, though.”

Hermann’s stomach growls again, and Newton grins. “Maybe the kitchen has some stuff I can use to jury-rig one.”

“Did you honestly use the term ‘jury-rig’ to refer to making a drink?” Hermann asks sardonically. Newton gives him a pat on his good knee. 

“Yep. Now c’mon; everybody’s asleep, and I want you all to myself this morning.”

His face heats up at that, and he quickly grabs his cane from where it’s propped against the bedside table and stands. Newton is wearing one of his own shirts, but one of Hermann’s two pairs of actual boxers, and they come down nearly to his knees despite being tight around the hips. Hermann pulls his dressing gown off of its hook hanging over the closet door, belting it around him and giving Newton a disapproving look when he does nothing to cover himself. Newton returns it.

“Dude, I told you. Nobody’s awake right now. That’s the whole point.”

“Well _I’m_ cold,” Hermann says snipply, but with no real heat behind it. Newton responds by coming up behind him and pulling him against his chest, rubbing his hands up and down. Hermann gives a little squawk at the almost-rough movements.

“I’m warming you up!” Newton insists, and Hermann can feel his smile against the back of his neck. “It’s friction!”

“You’re ridiculous,” but Hermann allows himself a moment longer in his embrace, if only because it _is_ rather effective.

Finally, Newton lets go and walks to hold the door open for him. “After you,” he says in what Hermann assumes is his “upper crust” voice, swinging his arm down in an exaggerated gesture. Hermann slides his feet into his slippers, eyes Newton until he sighs and shoves his feet bare into his own boots, then follows him out the door. 

It’s a short walk to the mess hall, and Hermann doesn’t notice their steps are in sync until they’re almost at the doorway. When he looks down and sees Newton’s foot stepping in time with his cane, he can’t help the tiny smile that darts across his face. Drifting always seemed so clinical to him, at least until it happened. Or perhaps it just needed to be reformed in the context of Newton. Most of the better things in Hermann’s life have been.

He feels something brush against his hand, and turns to see Newton trying to subtly hook his pinky around Hermann’s. When he catches him looking, he grins widely.

“What?” He finishes the motion and swings their hands back and forth. Hermann shakes his head.

“You are five years old; honestly.”

“Sorry, my serotonin receptors are getting kinda overwhelmed at the moment, and you always look like you could use some.”

Hermann blinks. “Are you saying you’re happy, or calling me sad-looking?”

“Can’t I do both?” Newton bumps against his side gently. “C’mon, smile. We saved the world.”

Hermann purposefully frowns even deeper. “You keep saying that, and I can see the size of your head increasing each time.”

“Hermaaaaann,” he pleads, and pulls them to a halt to lean forward with puppy-dog eyes. “We have literally nothing to be worried about right now. You can’t give your Drift partner and brain-buddy one, teensy little smile?”

“Oh, I hate that phrase,” Hermann says, but Newton bats his eyelashes and the smile comes out before he can stop it. Newton crows in delight.

“Ha! I always knew I could make you do that. I’m so gonna abuse this.”

“You are the strangest man I’ve ever met,” Hermann sighs, and tugs him along the rest of the way. 

Newton is correct; the mess hall is indeed empty and silent, save for the faint sound of water running through the pipes above it. There are a few stray plastic cups and (Hermann chooses not to think too deeply on it) articles of clothing from where the celebrations must have migrated there, but they easily pick their way around the tables and through the door to the kitchen area. 

It’s strange, seeing the Shatterdome so empty like this. Even with the near-skeleton crew of the resistance they had been working with, Hermann had grown used to seeing every corner of the complex filled with people. Their steps echo against the steel fridges and cabinets of the kitchen, and Hermann thinks he might find it creepy if he didn’t know the source of the absences. The infirmary would be out of Aspirin by noon. 

Newton claps his hands together, the noise especially loud. “Okay!” he says cheerfully. “Let’s experiment here. Vanilla extract should work fine, if they have it. Hermann, have you ever gotten tea from here before?” Hermann nods, then Newton does as well. “Right, I need a bag of Earl Grey, and whatever milk you want.”

Hermann heads for one of the fridges, calling back as Newton begins to open and close cabinets, “Don’t you need to doーahーsomething to the milk? Froth it?”

“I can work with a whisk, as long as the milk gets hot first,” he replies, letting out a little “Aha!” when one of the cabinets reveals to be full of spices. “One-forty to one-fifty-five is the golden bracket.”

Hermann pulls open a fridge, which contains fruit juices and some produce, closes it, and opens another. He selects one of the gallons of two percent milk from the rows and rows of jugs, and adjusts his grip as it proves to be heavier than expected. After setting it down on a counter, he joins Newton at the cabinets.

“I assume the syrup you used is a bit different from vanilla extract,” he says, raising one eyebrow. Newton shrugs, pushing aside several tubs of seasonings to reach further back. 

“That’s what the sugar is for. Everything’ll dissolve if you get the ratios right.” He winks. “I _do_ have a doctorate in chemistry.”

“ _‘A’_ ,” Hermann echoes mockingly, and opens the cabinet he knows contains boxes of tea bags. “Earl grey, you said?”

“Yep.” Newton pops the “p” on the end. “Just one bag.” He rises up on his tiptoes and sticks almost his entire head inside the cabinet, and Hermann can barely hear him mutter, “I _know_ it’s in here somewhere.” Then, after a moment, “Bingo!”

Newton leans back, holding a tall bottle of vanilla extract. He opens one of the drawers just below the cabinet and rifles around, producing two plastic measuring spoons for one tablespoon, and one fourth of a teaspoon. Hermann takes a teabag from a cut out section of one of the boxes, and hands it to him. “Now what?” he asks.

“Now we need sugar,” says Newton, “and I guess whatever we want to eat. Any preferences?”

In response, Hermann walks back over to the produce fridge and selects two large, firm-feeling oranges. Newton brightens at seeing them.

“God, I know in my heart those aren’t fresh, but I seriously think I’ve flirted with scurvy while down here. Gimme.”

Hermann throws him one underhand, then takes a large bag of sugar at the end of the counter and slides it over to their workspace. Newton finds two cups on the drying rack by the massive industrial sink, pours a good serving of milk in one, and, to Hermann’s disdain, carries it over to one of the microwaves and sets it in for one minute. He curls his upper lip, which he knows Newton can sense.

“For heaven’s sake.”

“Do you see a steaming wand?” Newt cocks an eyebrow and puts a hand on his hip. “Oh no? We’re in an underfunded military base at the former end of the world? Really? We’re gonna use the microwave, then.”

Hermann doesn’t even bother rolling his eyes, but looks up as far as he can without them hurting. “Chemistry doctorate,” he says flatly.

“Shut up and find me a whisk.”

Hermann does, if only to prove the somewhat nebulous point that he’s the more mature one, and hands it to Newton just as the final numbers tick down. The microwave beeps, and Newton removes the cup and takes it back to the counter. He measures out the one-fourth teaspoon of vanilla extract, then scoops a tablespoon of sugar from the bag and adds it as well. “Now the key with whisking,” he says, “at least in this case, is to do it back and forth. You want bubbles and texture, not to just stir it.”

Carefully holding the cup in a way that doesn’t burn his hands, Newton flicks his wrist back and forth so the whisk froths up the milk inside. Bubbles appear, large at first, then condensing into smaller ones as the foam builds up. After a few more seconds of this, Newton stops and holds out his hand for the teabag. “If we steep it in the milk,” he explains, “the drink isn’t watered down and you still get all the flavor. At least that’s how I like it.”

He unfolds the tag from around the teabag and holds it while dropping the bag into the steaming milk. Hermann takes it without needing to ask and bobs it up and down, watching the motion disrupt the little piles of bubbles on the surface. “How long?” he asks.

“I’d say maybe three to five minutes, just with the milk.” Then, he winks. “Also, for five years _or_ since 2015 depending on how you look at it.”

Hermann’s head snaps up at this, and he nearly jerks the teabag out. “I’m so sorryーwhat?”

Newton laughs, and it’s high and scratchy and makes Hermann’s heart jump several inches. “What do you think, dude? You asked.”

“How long you’veー” he starts, but can’t bring himself to finish. The idea of his affections returned, even after the way they woke up this morning, even after the feeling of Newton’s finger curled delicately around his own, is second nature to be impossible to him. Hermann feels color rise in his cheeks. “IーI didn’t want to assume.”

“Are you serious?” Newton asks incredulously, but his eyes are dancing with suppressed laughter. “I let you be the little spoon. That’s some pretty serious commitment there, Herms.”

Hermann ducks his head, staring down determinedly at the milk. “I don’t know. IーI don’t. Just because I saw your mind for a few seconds, Newton, doesn’t mean I suddenly know everything you want.” He swallows. “Or what you want from me.”

Newton plays with the hem of his shirt with one hand, shifting back and forth on his feet. The laces are undone, flopping on the ground with barely-audible clacks. “It’s not about what I want from you,” he says. “We saved the world.”

“Yes, you keep saying that,” Hermann says, almost a snap. He feels his jaw tighten with nerves. “What does it _mean_ to you?”

There’s a distinct smile in Newton’s voice. “It means we saved the world. So I don’t want stuff from you, expect maybe some of that instant coffee in the tub on your left. It’s what I want _with_ you.”

Hermann wordlessly puts a hand on the lid of the tub to pull it over to himself, then push it across the counter to Newton. He tilts his head slightly to the left for him to continue. Newton grins and shakes his head.

“That’s it, man. I mean, unless you want me to get into the details.” Hermann very much does, but he would rather die than say it aloud. Luckily, Newton seems to realize this, although Hermann would bet he could, Drift or no. “Yeah. I dunno what we’re gonna do after this, especially since I’ve got one hell of a defunct main field, but we’ll figure something out. I wanna argue with you more about stuff that isn’t threatening to eat us. I wanna finally write something big together and get it published and have my name next to yours on the paper. IーI wanna fucking pick out silverware with you, and dish towels, and put glow-in-the-dark stars on the bedroom ceiling. And I don’t even know if that’s what you want, too, because you haven’t told _me_ , but essentially, basically, Hermann, I kinda want to be in love with you a little louder, now that we’re not in danger of dying. If you get what I mean.” Hermann looks up to see his cheeks are bright red, a measuring spoon twirling between his fingers. “Is that stupid? It sounds kind of stupid when I say it out loud, actually.”

It’s not often that Newton leaves him at a loss for words, but it seems miracles are in steady supply these days. Hermann drops the tea bag string to dangle over the edge of the cup and strides forward to take the spoon and set it down on the counter. Then, he takes Newton’s hand.

“There will be no work samples in the fridge,” he says, and Newton’s eyes light up like candles in paper bags. He strokes a thumb over the junction of skin between Hermann’s own thumb and pointer finger.

“Aw,” he says, achingly sentimental, “no fair,” and that’s when Hermann becomes unable to stop himself from kissing him.

Newton has slightly stale morning breath, and his lips are heavily chapped, but the absence of product in his hair leaves it wild and soft and perfect for Hermann to run his fingers through. He brings their joined hands down to Newton’s right set of ribs, feeling the jump of his heartbeat underneath fabric and skin. It’s steadily increasing, he notes with pleasure, and swipes his tongue along the seam of his lips just to feel it jump a few beats up. 

“Wait,” says Newton, pulling back for a moment, his eyes massive and slightly unfocused, “uh, the tea should be, uhー”

“Priorities,” Hermann grumbles fondly, and shifts his weight so he can lean his cane against the counter, and then push Newton against it as well. “Nearly five years I’ve been writing bloody _poetry_ about your horrifically cliched eyesー”

“Poetryーclichedーdude, they really do change color, I swearー” Newton sputters, seemingly unable to decide which revelation to focus on. “Also, I’m gonna find that, and read itー”

“That’s impossible, and so are you, and no you never will; the code to my lockbox isー”

“Three, six, four, four, six, two, you fucking hypocrite groupie indeed,” Newton smirks, which is unfair, and charming, and Hermann will have infinite chances to see it again, so he kisses it away and decides not to care too deeply if the tea does, in fact, grow cold.

Newton has proven he is allowed to be right about some things.


End file.
